Destiny
by WrittinInStone
Summary: AU. Reveal fic. Destiny, however difficult, will not be denied, not even by a King or a Sorcerer. No slash. Part One of the Legacy Series
1. Words From A Witch

**Destiny**

 **1\. Words From a Witch**

 **By WrittinInStone**

The evening was dark, the air, cool, biting them through their thin cloaks. Despite that, it was a beautiful night to the five women standing in the cold, because after months of searching, they had finally found her.

The sisters stood warily in front of the door of the rundown shack, marveling at the turn of fate that would bring one such as _her_ to a place such as this. But fate had not proven kind to any of them, indeed, to any magic user, so, why should _she_ be different?

They all started at the eerie hoot of an owl, instinctively moving closer to one another for safety. It was a dangerous area to be in, made even more so by the lateness of the hour, yet those things were trivial in the face of what they were about to do.

To approach anyone with magic as strong as this woman's was asking for trouble, but they had come this far; they couldn't stop now. They had called in many favors to find the witch and much of their plan depended on what she could tell them.

Taking a deep breath, Willow turned to her sisters. She paused and took a moment to study each of their beloved faces.

First there was Aspen, the second oldest. Short with dark skin, Aspen was the fiercest of the group, the most intelligent and the most bitter. She had pushed for this, had convinced Willow to take the final steps, indeed had come up with the 'how' of their little plan. But now that they had actually followed through with it, Willow did not know whether to thank her or castigate her.

Next was Catalpa, tall and sturdy with blonde hair and sky blue eyes. She was the most gentle member of their family, the one who had protested this the most. Yet in the end, she had chosen her sisters over her heart, just as Willow had known she would. Yet, as the eldest studied her, she could not help but wonder if that would always be so, or if Catalpa would one day find the courage to follow her heart and leave them all behind.

Gingko came next. She was beautiful with her long dark hair and eyes. Of all of them, she had lost the most to the Pendragons and was more than willing to follow this plan, although doing so would probably take at least one of their lives. Willow knew that Gingko would not be adverse to that life being hers.

Then there was the youngest: Ash. If Aspen was the brain of the family, then Ash was its heart. The youngest at a mere thirteen years, Ash was kind with a heart like spun gold. She would have made an excellent High Priestess, blessing and enriching every life she came into contact with. But if the Pendragons had their way, Ash and those like her would not live to see their next birthdays. That fact had solidified it for Willow, for even more than getting revenge on the Pendragons or securing their own futures, they did this for Ash; so that she could live without fear.

That was why they would face the witch, why they would take this risk no matter the cost to themselves.

It was then that Willow turned to her sisters. "When we enter here, Aspen and I shall speak only. Catalpa, Gingko, Ash; you must remain silent." It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that the younger sisters did not protest. One followed orders in situations such as these.

Nodding to them, Willow turned to the door of the shack, pulling her dark cloak over her head, cognizant of her sisters mirroring the action.

Taking a deep breath she pushed the door open, refusing to wince at the echoing creak it made.

She immediately straightened as her bright green eyes fell on the dark, still form in front of them. The witch did not move at their entrance, merely continued to stare at the flames that roared in the blackened fireplace in front of her, her back to them.

"We come seeking help," Willow spoke into the dense silence as they all bowed to the witch, their eyes never leaving her still form. "We wish to kill Arthur Pendragon."

Willow's words twisted into the air like a live snake, resting heavily on everyone's ears. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Finally, the witch spoke, bitterness in her voice, "And why should you seek counsel from me? I have tried to do so and have failed at every attempt."

"That is why we wish for your help," Aspen countered softly, rising and stepping forward. "You have failed where you should have succeeded. Tell us why."

Gingko glared at Aspen for her demanding tone, but Aspen merely returned it, unintimidated.

Willow gave her sisters a warning look, brushing her red hair out of her face "Please, milady. Help us. We seek to end the rule of Arthur Pendragon for he has proven himself his father's son."

"And what shall I get in return for helping you?" Morgana Pendragon asked after a long silence, finally turning to face them.

Willow blinked at she gazed upon Morgana's form for the first time. Truly the High Priestess of the Triple Goddess cut an impressive figure. Even with her ragged clothes and the dark circles under her eyes, no one with magic could mistake that the woman in front of them was dangerous, ruthless and not to be trifled with. A being of such power would only respect a group of equal strength, if not in magic then in fortitude. Willow meant to show Morgana such.

"You shall have what you always wanted," Aspen replied, staring at the female Pendragon with dark, burning eyes. "A land where magic can flourish once more."

Morgana shook her head, an unkind smile gracing her bloodless lips. "That is not all I want."

"But that is all we can give," Aspen replied, meeting the witch's eyes unflinchingly and not for the first time, Willow thanked the Old Religion for Aspen's fearless. Her mettle had seen the sisters through many trials and it looked as though it would see them through this one as well.

Morgana fell silent as locked eyes with Aspen before moving her gaze to survey the rest of the sisters. When her gaze landed on Catalpa, she stopped. Morgana stilled nearly imperceptibly as she studied the lithe figure. The blonde reminded her so much of Morgause …

Arthur and the others had never really understood her sister, had not realized that it had been Uther and his crimes that had made Morgause the woman that she was. These women sought to kill her treacherous brother, to restore magic back to the land. Would she allow her wants to go before those of her people, before the wishes of her beloved, departed sister? It was a hard choice. Her sister, though much beloved, was now gone. Morgana was alone … But perhaps, these sisters were a gift sent by the Triple Goddess, perhaps …

Perhaps this was an opportunity.

"Kill the manservant," the witch, Morgana, spoke abruptly, a slight frown on her face as she once again turned away from them.

The sisters paused at the words.

"What?" Willow responded with a frown, peering intensely at Morgana's face.

"If you want to kill Arthur Pendragon, you must first kill his manservant. If you do not, you will fail."

The witch fell silent and it was obvious that she had said all that she would.

"Thank you, milady," Willow said carefully.

With a small bow, they swept out of the shack, all of them breathing a collective sigh of relief when they were well away from the place.

"We have the information we need," Willow said after a moment. "Tomorrow, we ride for Camelot."

Her sisters nodded, each of their minds filled with thoughts of what the future would bring.

In the darkness of her shack, Morgana considered her visitors. _This will prove most interesting_ , she thought, moving to a round bowl sitting on a small table in the far corner, _and perhaps fortuitous_. With a practiced motion, she picked up the pitcher sitting nearby and poured water into the bowl. Quietly, she murmured, "Geondlihte gesweorc min."

Releasing a soft breath as she felt power rush out of her, Morgana gazed into the water of the scrying bowl as it shimmered silver before showing her the sisters walking cautiously through the woods away from her shack.

The words to kill Merlin had seemed to come from her soul and was a revelation that she had only just received. It made her wonder: How big a factor had Merlin really been in her defeat? The more that she thought about it, the more she realized that the one constant in her defeats were the king's manservant. He always poked his nose in the business of his betters, in things that were none of his affair.

Even more preoccupying: If she had killed Merlin before, might she be queen of Camelot even now? It was a thought to ponder, a thought that made the ever present fury at the manservant flare.

She had given them good advice, advice that might just help their plan succeed. _And_ e _ven should they fail to kill Arthur,_ Morgana thought as she watched the sisters, _if they could just kill Merlin, none of this would be in vain. I would have another chance to reclaim Camelot._

Morgana blinked at the unexpected pang she felt as the thought of Merlin's death before ruthlessly pushing it away. Merlin had made his choice when he poisoned her, when he had killed her sister; there could be no reconciliation between them, no friendship.

No Merlin was her enemy and the reign of Arthur Pendragon had to end. If that meant the sisters killed of Merlin of Ealdor, then that would be one less thing that she herself had to do.

And Morgana continued to watch the progress of the sisters until the light from the fireplace burned out.

End of Chapter 1: Please review.

 **Chapter 2: Murmurs of Discontent** : Growth is change.

A/N: So, I've had the first few chapters of this story on my computer forever and I'm finally posting it. If you like, please let me know. This is the first part in a two part series.


	2. Murmurs of Discontent

**Destiny**

 **2\. Murmurs of Discontent**

 **By: WrittinInStone**

It was another day in Camelot.

Merlin sighed as he rubbed the armor before him in a slow, steady, practiced motion. He stared at his work critically before nodding and sitting down the rag. It used to be a point of pride for him that he could make Arthur's armor both functional and decorative, that he was the reason Arthur looked liked such a statesman, such a king.

But lately… the pleasure that he got out of the simple task had begun to run dry.

Now, all he could see was that it was yet another meaningless and tedious job that Arthur had bestowed upon him in a fit of temper.

And it wasn't just the armor.

It was the endless quests, the unreasonable demands … the unrealistic expectations.

In the beginning, they made him feel important. After all, how many servants were allowed to accompany the King on his quests? Further yet, how many people did he trust with his armor, his horses, his stables? None but him, none but Merlin. It had made him feel special, like Arthur needed him, like he was necessary to the then-prince.

But then Arthur began to grow in strength of mind and in wisdom. He became King, heralding a philosophy that proclaimed all were equal all the while gaining new allies, allies onto which he bestowed knighthood and nobility.

…Yet Merlin remained a manservant. He was still called to polish the king's armor, ready his horses … muck out his stables.

And it all began to grate on him.

Because it wasn't enough, not anymore.

 _Nothing_ seemed to be enough and it hadn't been for a while.

It wasn't status that he wanted or prestige or even accolades for all he had done over the years.

No.

He wanted something _else_.

He wanted _freedom_.

Resting his head gently on the now shiny breastplate, Merlin sighed heavily.

He didn't know when it had started, this feeling of discontent. Had it always been there, festering like a disease under his skin, this dissatisfaction, this … _restlessness_?

Arthur was king now, had been for over a year, and yet he was no closer to telling the man about his magic then he was the first day he arrived. He used to think it was because Arthur wasn't ready, that he was protecting Arthur's feeling from the coming storm that would surely be Merlin's revelation. But what if it wasn't Arthur holding him back? What if it was _him_? Merlin's own weakness? His fear? Because honestly, Merlin couldn't see how waiting and continuing on the way he had would change Arthur's outlook on magic. What if Arthur was ready? Now was as good a time as any to tell the King. So why not just _do it_? If Arthur was really as just as he claimed, he would listen… right?

"Merlin!"

A small smile split Merlin's lips as Gwaine sauntered into the armory, chewing on an apple.

"The King is looking for you," the Knight declared with his usual irreverence, grinning at Merlin, "something about the hunt for tomorrow."

"Oh, I forgot about that," Merlin exclaimed, smacking himself in the head, as he rose to his feet.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Gwaine said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. "Arthur's had you working nonstop for the past few days. It's a wonder you remembered to dress this morning."

"You're not wrong," Merlin murmured under his breath, resisting a sigh as he followed Gwaine out of the room.

Now that Arthur had finally settled into becoming King, it was like Merlin's workload had quadrupled. Arthur seemed to need him for _everything_ , even the most menial of tasks; he needed Merlin at every meeting and every hunt, needed him serving at every feast and accompanying him on every diplomatic mission, near and far. Between doing that and organizing Arthur's schedule _and_ writing most of his speeches, Merlin wondered what was left for the king to _actually_ do!

"I wonder if Arthur realizes how much you do for him," Gwaine continued as though privy Merlin's thoughts, shaking his head as he finished the apple and threw the core on the ground. "He wouldn't last even a day without you."

Merlin's laughed softly. "Well, the prat's never thought of that, of course." he shook his head at the truth in his words. "He'll see my worth one day."

 _One day_. Was that synonymous with _never_? Because more and more, it was beginning to feel as though "one day" would never come.

Gwaine, paused, staring at Merlin, a strange smile on his face. "One day, Merlin," the Knight said seriously, "I'm going to find out why you're so bloody loyal to Arthur."

Merlin merely shrugged, uneasiness creeping up his spine. He _was_ loyal to Arthur, exceedingly so. It made him wonder exactly where his single-minded devotion to the man had sprung from. When he first came to Camelot, he had thought Arthur Pendragon a spoiled pig of a prince and a horrible king in the making. Then, after a dragon told him about his and Arthur's destiny, he suddenly couldn't stop sacrificing himself for the prat.

Yet, Merlin could admit it; Arthur Pendragon was a man unlike any other, following a seeming internal law that made him good for its own sake and Merlin had seen on plenty occasions what an amazing king Arthur could be.

But what about _Merlin_? When had he completely stopped thinking about himself? When was it going to be acceptable for him to do so?

Gwaine frowned upon seeing the look on Merlin's face. "You alright?"

Merlin forced a smile. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine."

"Alright," the Knight said, drawing the word out, "I'm going to pretend that I believe what you're telling me because the king is waiting."

Yes, Arthur was waiting. It was _always_ about Arthur.

As Merlin began to move away, Gwaine gazed at him with a frown, "Merlin," he called as the manservant ascended the steps of the Citadel, "you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Because I'll listen."

Merlin paused and this time, the smile that stretched across his features was genuine. "Thanks, Gwaine."

The knight nodded, watching as Merlin disappeared inside the Citadel.

Gwaine's eyes remained where the manservant had gone for a moment longer before turning away. Merlin's demeanor had… disturbed him. For a long time, now, it had become steadily clear that Merlin was unhappy. It was in the way his smile never quite reached his eyes, or the way he would sometimes stare at the king as though dying to say something that he never actually passed his lips.

He wondered if anyone else had noticed, but figured they hadn't. The people closest to Merlin seemed to be cursed with a perpetual unawareness about the state of the manservant's personhood. Everyone always assumed that the smile on his face was genuine, never bothering to look deeper.

But Gwaine had and what he saw worried him.

The knight folded his arms thoughtfully, grabbing another apple off of a crate of a passing vendor.

Perhaps it was time to stage an intervention.

#*#*#*#*#

Nodding to servants and guards, Merlin walked quickly through the halls of the Citadel, slowing as he neared the King's chambers.

Time to put on his game face.

"I'm here," he announced dramatically, entering the room.

"Oh, Merlin, there you are," Arthur exclaimed immediately, ignoring the dark-haired man's proclamation. "I want you to try on these clothes for me."

"What?" Merlin asked shortly, looking at Arthur in disbelief. "That's really funny, sire. Now about this hunting problem…?"

Arthur scowled at him. "What I want is for you to try on these clothes," the King said, grabbing his manservant and pushing him toward the pile of clothes on the bed.

"You _are_ serious. Do you mean to tell me I dropped everything and came all the way here to try on some clothes for you?" Merlin asked incredulously. "I thought you wanted me to figure out the hunting schedule!"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Arthur said dismissively, waving it off. "I need you for this. Now, start trying them on."

"But… but…" Merlin sputtered indignantly.

"Start with this one," the King said, ignoring Merlin's gaping mouth as he picked up a dark blue shirt and shoved it into his manservant's chest. "I think there's a matching pair of pants somewhere around here."

Merlin could only gap at Arthur as the King continued to ramble on about matching shirt and pants.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

#*#*#*#*#

Merlin sighed as he trudged down the halls of the Citadel.

He had only just managed to complete his chores after spending nearly the whole afternoon trying on clothes for Arthur. Now, it was an hour before the feast and he was exhausted, hungry and in desperate need of a bath. It was a wonder he had made it back to his room without simply giving up and resting in the halls. Arthur had better hope that Merlin could pour in a straight line or there would be wine in something other than the King's _goblet_ … mayhap his plate… or his lap.

"Gaius, I'm here," he called as he entered the physician's quarters.

"Good," Gaius' muffled voice answered, his head in a supply cabinet. "There's something in your room that you should see."

"Really?" Merlin asked, frowning, moving immediately to his room. "What's this?" he exclaimed in confusion as he entered, staring at the huge pile of neatly folded clothes covering his bed.

"Oh, a servant brought that in here for you," Gaius answered from the doorway, smiling widely. "Apparently, Arthur is tired of you looking like a vagabond so had a bunch of his old clothes brought here. The only thing is, what's old for the King is damn fine good clothing for everyone else. I hope you appreciate this gesture from him, Merlin."

Merlin could only stare at all the clothes for a long moment before a large, goofy smile appeared on his face. The smile only widened when he read the note that sat primly on the highest pile of clothes.

 _Merlin,_

 _Choose one of these outfits to wear to the feast tonight._

 _Show up early to my chambers and don't be late._

 _And for God's sake, wipe that silly grin off of your face,_

 _Arthur_

Arthur had made him try on all those clothes because he was giving them to him? Merlin could only stare, sure that he would burst from the happiness filling _him_. This was the nicest thing that Arthur had _ever_ done for him and he just… couldn't… stop… smiling!

He carefully put the note in a drawer before eagerly turning to the clothes.

He smiled fondly as he noticed the dark blue shirt on top; it was the first item Arthur had picked up that afternoon.

Grabbing it, Merlin put it on as well as the matching pants.

Moments later, he exited the room, grinning at Gaius' look of admiration.

"You look great, Merlin," Gaius said, nodding in approval. "Arthur has gotten much more muscular throughout the years, so those clothes no longer fit him, but they are perfect for you."

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin said, beaming, "I've never had such fine clothes in my life."

"Well, no one deserves it more than you, my boy," Gaius replied firmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Now run along, you don't want to keep our King waiting."

"Oh, yes! You're right!" Merlin cried, dashing out of the room. "See you at the feast," he yelled over his shoulder on the way out.

Gaius shook his head in loving exasperation, moving to get himself ready.

The physician was glad to see such a smile on his ward's face. Contrary to what Merlin probably thought, Gaius had not been oblivious to Merlin's growing discontent and hoped that this proof that Arthur cared about him would allay some of those emotions.

Gaius knew that it would not end there. Merlin was young and had, thus far, succeeded in coping with with the burden of his destiny, but for all his power and wisdom, he lacked the basic training that he would have received in the old days, training that would have made him realize that the emotions plaguing him were more than just his own feelings. It was a message from the Old Magic, a way, in the olden days, that it communed with the High Priests and Priestess. Merlin was not a High Priest, at least not yet, but he _was_ Emrys and his connection to the magic of the land was much more potent than anyone else's.

Gaius could only imagine how much Merlin was struggling with these newfound emotions, unaware that it was Destiny deeming it time for change and was thusly eliminating Merlin's contentment with his current role in Arthur's life.

More than once, the physician considered telling Merlin exactly what was happening to him, but something held him back. One did not interfere when the Old Magic was at work and the truth was that if it was pushing Merlin, it was because it was needed. Merlin was afraid to tell Arthur his secret and Gaius wondered if Merlin ever would or if it would take a life or death situation for Merlin to finally disclose his biggest secret.

That could not be.

Albion would never come to past if Merlin never took his place as Emrys and it was because of this that the Old Religion had finally decreed that Merlin's time as a manservant must end.

For so long the young warlock had glorified Arthur's destiny above his own, belittling his role in the creation of Albion. But Merlin, the manservant could do no more, was no longer needed. It was time for Merlin, the warlock, the Emrys, to take his place, not in Arthur's shadow, but by his side.

They had all reached an imaginary peak from which they could proceed no further. In order for destiny to be realized, something had to change.

Gaius could only hope that Merlin could handle the trials ahead. For when the Old Magic called, great hardships followed. But Gaius knew that if Merlin could hold on, if he could survive the tests ahead as he had done with every other, the rewards would mean the creation of Albion and the beginning of a real and true friendship the likes which would never be seen again, one that would be whispered about throughout the ages and heralded unto the end of time.

#*#*#*#*#

Merlin reached Arthur's chambers in no time. He knocked, but entered without waiting for an answer.

"Merlin," Arthur said from where he stood in front of a mirror, not bothering to look up, "what's the use of knocking if you never wait for me to tell you to enter?"

"Knocking's just a formality," Merlin said cheekily, eyes gleaming, "besides, you always know it's me."

Arthur finally turned to look at him, smiling when he saw his clothes.

"Good," the King said, nodding in approval, "you look presentable. Now, let's go."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, moving to give Arthur his sword. "Let's go."

#*#*#*#*#*

By the end of the night, Merlin really wished that Arthur hadn't given him the clothes.

Merlin trudged into his room, his shoulders hunched as though they carried the weight of the world, which is certainly what it felt like.

The warlock sat on his bed, allowing his body to fall onto it, eyes closing against the wave of sorrow and despair welling within him.

The truth was; he was a fool. Merlin should have _known_ this would backfire.

He hadn't noticed the looks at first, so intent was him on ensuring that Arthur received the correct food on time and that it was hot, just like the king liked it.

But then, the first servant bumped into him roughly, causing him to drop Arthur's plate. This, naturally, infuriated every guest as everyone had to wait to eat while the king's plate was prepared again.

The following walk of shame that he was forced to endure as he brought the king's second plate out—all the while ignoring the cutting glares being thrown his way—had to be one of most humiliating experiences he'd had in a while.

Then, Arthur's special wine was accidentally misplaced although Merlin had seen it himself in its correct place before the feast had begun.

It was around the third incident, when he was tripped on the way to the kitchens, that he realized it: He was being sabotaged. To the other servants, the clothes were just another example of the way Arthur favored Merlin over them all.

Though a bit more circumspect, the royals gave him similar looks, clearly disgusted with his attire. People in his station didn't wear clothes such as that; they were _literally_ fit for a king.

Everyone had accepted the special relationship that he had with Arthur for a long time, but as the danger of Morgana and magical threats decreased and life became filled with nothing more than mundane problems, people began to frown on what they saw as him getting special treatment.

It was well known that he'd nearly given his life for Arthur on several occasions, but to many, that was his reasonable service as a citizen of Camelot and the risk he ran since he insisted on following the King everywhere.

If only they knew how hard Merlin worked to gain such crumbs from Arthur, they would become quite content with their less than favored positions in the King's eyes.

Merlin sat up and began to slowly peel the clothes off, holding the shirt up, gazing upon it. The threads were so fine, and it was so comfortable. But it was not meant for him.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head before opening them and moving to his dresser, placing all the clothes Arthur had gifted him with in the bottommost drawer. If Arthur asked him why he wasn't wearing the clothes, he'd simply tell him it was because he didn't want to get them dirty while he was mucking out his stables.

Sighing, Merlin rubbed his hand wearily over worn eyes.

He knew the clothes were one of the rare instances where Arthur attempted to show Merlin that he cared. He just wished the gesture had not created such a backlash, that it was enough to soothe the gnawing _wrongness_ in his soul. He wished that it would wash away this _feeling_.

But it didn't.

Nothing but the truth would.

Merlin allowed his body to drop on the bed, releasing another heavy sigh. He rolled over on his side and stared out his window at the big, pale moon.

It just hung there, so bright in the darkness. Did the moon ever resent the sun? Did the moon ever wonder if others valued its moonlight as much as the sunlight? If they believed that it was just as important as the sun? That the night would not be the same without it?

Merlin knew. No one would ever value the moon like the sun. The moon shone through the darkness, gave light in the blackness, but the sun? It banished the dark… eliminating the need for the moon.

The moon would forever live in its shadow.

Just as Merlin would forever live in the shadow of Arthur Pendragon, sacrificing all so that he could shine.

It was the fate of the moon and it was his as well.

Perhaps, it was simply time to accept that.

And Merlin continued to gaze at the moon until it faded under the light of the sun.

End of chapter 1: Please review!

 **Chapter 2: Execution** : A sorcerer is discovered in Camelot.

A/N: Hello guys, I hope you like this fic. Please follow me on Twitter or my blog for updates. Also, I have a account. All links can be found on my profile. I'd love your support.


	3. Execution

**3\. Execution**

It was a beautiful day. Too beautiful a day, in fact.

Guinevere Pendragon, Queen of Camelot, stared ahead stoically as her husband entered the hall, his strides long and confident, his back straight; looking every inch a king. The throne room was deathly silent. The people in the room—nobles and knights—stood as still as stone statues, unwilling to disturb the near palpable tension in the room; even the birds outside seemed to respect the gravity of what was about to happen.

A sorcerer was about to be executed in Camelot.

This was not a novel practice. Under Uther Pendragon's reign, such things were commonplace. But on this day, it was different. It wasn't the fact that this was the first execution ordered by King Arthur or that it was probably the first event of its kind to cause such an uproar in the city, nor was it the fact that the sorcerer was getting the honor of a fairly private execution, being beheaded—by the king himself, no less—in front of the nobles and knights only and not the whole of Camelot.

No. This day was full of sorrow because of _who_ was being executed.

Gwen straightened almost imperceptibly as Arthur took his place by her side, her heart bleeding for him. His face was hard, as though carved from stone. He had barely spoken a word since _the discovery_.

"Bring in the sorcerer," Arthur spoke, his voice deep and commanding, steeped with authority.

The door to the throne room opened immediately and the guards entered, dragging _him_ behind them. The sorcerer's head was covered with a brown sack, and he stumbled frequently, causing the guards to half push, half-carry the man to the foot of the thrones. Guinevere was less sure if it was the bag that was causing the clumsiness or the man's natural inability to remain upright.

A mere two days ago such a thought would have made her smile. But not today. Not this time.

Arthur descended the steps as the guards pushed the man down to his knees in front of the king. At Arthur's nod, the guards ripped the bag off the sorcerer's head and he squinted at the sudden assault of light to his eyes. Gwen's stomach clenched painfully as she took in the familiar features of the man kneeling in front of her. It was amazing how different he looked now that she _knew_. The features were all of the same, but now, she took them in with unfettered eyes. Was his hair always that specific shade of black? His eyes, that mysterious, almost mystical blue?

She almost wished that her newfound knowledge of him would erase the memory of the goofy grin that would spread across his face or the compassion that would shine in those eyes at just the right moment. It would make it easier in the future, when he was no longer there, when he was nothing more than a memory. She really wished it were so. Because it was not just a faceless denizen being executed today. No, it was someone who she thought she had known, someone close to both the King and the Queen of Camelot. It was none other than her best friend and the King of Camelot's manservant.

It was Merlin.

#*#*#*#*#

 _Three days earlier_

"Rise and shine you lazy daisy!"

With a sweep of each hand, Merlin opened the thick, red curtains of the king's chambers, allowing the bright rays of the sun to fill the room. Gwen had long since gone, which was her custom, leaving only the King buried in bed. Merlin knew that Gwen did it for her own sake as well as Merlin's. Getting the king out of bed was a job that no one wanted, not even the Queen. Smiling at Arthur's groan, he moved to the desk to scan the schedule for the day. "Come on, Arthur, you have to wake up. You have a very busy day today and you can't be late."

"Go away, Merlin," Arthur replied surlily, rolling over and burying his head in a pillow. "The kingdom will do just fine without me for a day."

"Oh, so, I guess you've forgotten about all of the guests you have arriving today?" Merlin responded cheerfully, placing the schedule back on the table.

"Tell them to come back later," Arthur said crossly. "If I have to sit through another day full of pompous nobles telling me how valuable he or she is to the kingdom, then I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions."

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Sire," Merlin answered with a grin, "besides, it must really be hard to receive pledges of loyalty along with more gifts than the stores can safely hold."

Scowling, Arthur Pendragon sat up in his bed and glared at his manservant.

"Very well," he said calmly, sending Merlin a sly smile that instantly prompted wariness in the manservant, "since I'm obviously overreacting, you should come to the Throne Room today and enjoy the procession with me."

Merlin blanched. "No, no, sire, I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Oh no, Merlin," Arthur replied with evil grin, "I insist."

Merlin stared at Arthur mutinously for a moment before exhaling deeply and chuckling. "You live to torment me, don't you?"

"I do," Arthur agreed candidly, smiling at him. "It's my favorite pastime."

Merlin returned the smile, his heart glad. It felt good to be this chipper, especially considering the mood he'd been in lately. But today felt different… like the winds of change were blowing. It was going to be a good day, a life changing day; he just knew it.

Finally, shaking his head, he walked to the cupboard, his voice muffled as he called over his shoulder. "Very well, I'll go, but I bet it isn't as bad as you make it out to be. Just wait and see. We'll probably even have fun."

#*#*#*#*#

He wasn't having fun.

Merlin sighed as he fidgeted from his place near the King's throne. Arthur had warned him that this was a long and tedious process, yet Merlin had still managed to underestimate just how _unbearable_ it would be. For five hours, the king and newly crowned queen of Camelot had received nobles from all over the kingdom whose sole purpose was to pledge fealty to the new monarchs.

Two hours in and Merlin had had enough. Unfortunately, his efforts to subtly slip out had been waylaid by a sardonic and knowing glance from Arthur who looked as though he expected such an action from his manservant. The King's look had been quite was clear: If he had to endure this, then Merlin had to as well.

Merlin bit back a yawn, feeling as though it was quite possible that he'd pass out at any moment.

The procession was an exercise in endurance, for all of the nobles were the same. They came with false praise and expensive gifts, hoping to curry favor with the king and queen. So far, not one of them understood that their lies and bribes would win them no more favor or gold than what they deserved. It would be a lesson that most would learn with time only.

"Lord Frederick of Castle Ferdinand," the herald announced suddenly, cutting through Merlin's thoughts.

Merlin blinked as Lord Frederick strolled confidently into the throne room. The man was young, looking to be around Arthur's age. He wore elaborate robes, as most nobles did, and was accompanied by a servant who carried a rather large square object covered in fine blue and gold cloth.

Frowning slightly, Merlin came to attention as his eyes fell on the box, a strange buzzing filling his ears. _What?_ He thought absently, tilting his head slightly, a frown blossoming on his face.

"King Arthur, Queen Guinevere," Lord Frederick began loudly, bowing to each monarch in turn, "I humbly come before you today bearing a great and rare gift. It is a very powerful relic; one of the few magical objects that still exist from your father's great and noble war on magic. Interestingly enough, it is the one object that would have given him the power to win it. But, now that he is gone, I give this item into your keeping so that you may finish your father's work."

Merlin's brow furrowed at the man's words, unease slithering up his spine.

"If this object is so rare and valuable, where did you find it?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows reaching into forehead at the man's words.

"It was recovered from a very old Druidic camp, Your Majesty," Lord Frederick answered as he moved to stand beside the object. "It was well hidden and in truth, we found it quite by accident while on patrol only recently."

With an elaborate flourish of the hand, Frederick uncovered the box. As soon as the cloth fell, Merlin inhaled sharply, closing his eyes against the immediate onslaught of raw, magical power emanating from the box. The box itself was covered in the language of the Old Religion and was made from wood that he immediately knew was blessed by a High Priest or Priestess.

He closed his eyes for a moment as his magic responded to whatever was contained within the box and it _pulsed_ with energy. It felt familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he'd felt it before. It didn't bode well at all. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and if it could have helped Uther destroy his kin, then whatever it was, _wasn't good_. Merlin eyes narrowed as Lord Frederick opened the box, his unease turning to foreboding as his body tensed in anticipation.

It was a gold cup.

"What is it?" Gwen whispered, staring at the cup.

"This is the Cup of Revelation," Lord Frederick responded reverently, eyes gleaming with pride.

"The Cup of Revelation?" Arthur repeated with a frown on his face as he too leaned forward to stare at the object.

"Yes," Lord Frederick answered, running a light touch over the rim of the cup. "Let me explain, Your Majesties. According to the books that were found in the Druid's camp, there are three known Cups of Power. You have already witnessed the power of one such cup: The Cup of Life."

The room immediately burst into whispers at those words. Arthur and Gwen stiffened, Arthur's lip curling at the mention of the Cup that had brought such pain and destruction upon Camelot. Seeing the King's thunderous expression, Lord Frederick continued hastily, attempting to reassure the monarch, "Do not worry, sire. Though this is another such cup, its function is entirely different." Lord Frederick paused, his eyes shining with excitement. "While the Cup of Life gives life, takes life, and grants one immortality, this cup, the Cup of Revelation exposes magic users and those who have the ability to use it."

The whole court gasped and Merlin felt as though a stone had dropped in his stomach. He could only look at the Cup in antipathy, his mind filled with the horror that Uther could have inflicted upon practitioners of magic with such an object.

Merlin grew dizzy for a moment, struggling to manage the thoughts and emotions running through him like a stampede of wild animals. This Cup _was_ dangerous, even more so than the Cup of Life. There was no doubt in his mind that there had been a time when such an object proved to be nothing more than an extremely useful tool to identify potential sorcerers in an era where magic was accepted, but now, it was an instrument of death, one that could mean the destruction of his kin.

He would _not_ allow that to happen.

"How does it work?" Arthur asked quietly, a sick feeling burgeoning in his belly. This object would have been better left alone. Thus far, he had been lucky enough to be able to avoid the issue of sorcerers, but now, with the advent of this cup, that was no longer an option.

"It's simple, Sire, though not without its difficulty," Lord Frederick supplied readily, smiling, obviously pleased with the reaction his gift had wrought. "One must obtain the purest water that can be found. That water must then be blessed by a High Priest or Priestess."

"We can't use it then," Arthur concluded with a nod, sitting back in his throne, managing, by some miracle, to keep the relief out of his voice.

"Not quite, Sire," the noble responded as though expecting the reaction, "we found a small, glass flagon filled with clear water near the Cup and we believe it is the last bit of the water left, yet it is all we should need. According to the information we've found, only a single drop of this water is needed to activate the Cup, after which it can then be filled and used with regular, purified water. That regular water will reveal sorcerers and when it is gone, all one needs to do is put yet another drop of purified water into the cup and fill it with regular, purified water and so forth."

Arthur nose flared as he blinked, hiding his displeasure. So much for his relief.

"It's a hoax," a visiting noble said loudly, accompanied by murmurs of agreement, "how do we know he's telling the truth?"

Frowning, Lord Frederick paused for a moment and then asked hesitantly, "Would you like to see it in action, Sire? A demonstration will prove that the cup does indeed work."

Merlin's nose flared as apprehension, hot and heavy, hit him.

 _Say no, Arthur. Say no, Arthur_. He chanted in his head pleadingly. _Say no, Arthur!_

The king paused for a moment before nodding slightly, "Very well."

Merlin stiffened as he closed his eyes, feeling as thought his heart would thud out of his chest. He tried to swallow around the sickness in his throat, aware of the fact that his breakfast was attempting to make a reappearance.

"After the holy water is added, a simple sip will tell if a person is a sorcerer or not," Lord Frederick volunteered as he accepted gloves from his attendant and picked up the small glass vial of water. "If the person has magic, the eyes will turn yellow. If the person does not have magic, the eyes will turn blue. We will need a volunteer, my Lord."

Arthur heaved a silent sigh of relief. A volunteer? That was easy. He'd simply pick the one man all of Camelot knew could be no sorcerer.

"Merlin!" he bellowed loudly, looking toward his manservant only to find Merlin pale, looking absolutely sick beside him.

Arthur frowned. The manservant looked like he was seconds from bolting, but Arthur could hardly ask him about it now. It would have to wait until later. Besides, he couldn't be too sick to drink from a cup!

Merlin stared at Arthur. He couldn't question Arthur, not now, not in front of so many nobles. And he couldn't run out, that would be even more suspicious; he was trapped. But perhaps… perhaps a quick, wordless spell to hide his magic from the cup? There was no guarantee that it would work, but he didn't really have much of a choice right now.

 _Áhellian mic seiðr from testa,_ he willed to the Old Religion with all his might. _Áhellian mic seiðr from testa._ If there was one time he was thankful for his ability to use magic without verbal commands, it was now. _There's no reason why it shouldn't work_ , Merlin thought, stepping where Arthur indicated even as fear rose in him to such depths that he was sorely tempted to just spring out of the room, suspiciousness be damned.

 _But it should work_ , Merlin assured himself. His magic had never failed him before and it would not now.

"Okay, Merlin," Arthur said, staring at his manservant as the dark haired man stood in front of the cup as though he'd been led to the gallows. "Drink up. But not all of it, I know how you are when you have a little something to drink."

The nobles chuckled at Arthur's quip, their eyes glued to the demonstration in front of them. Picking up the cup, Merlin had to hide his wince as the force of its magic washed over him. It was so old, just like the Cup of Life. But he was Emrys, his magic was that of the Old Religion. His spell should work. Moving the cup to just below his lips, Merlin paused for a moment, gazing around the room before allowing it to rest on Arthur.

"Come now, Merlin," Arthur said in annoyance, confused with his manservant's behavior, "take a sip!"

Merlin looked at him for a moment longer, desperately trying to hide his panic, before turning his gaze back to the cup. How had this become his life? He was being forced to drink from an ancient cup that revealed magic users. And he was _Emrys_ , the most powerful warlock in existence.

 _Great_.

 _Áhellian mic seiðr from testa,_ Merlin thought one last time, with all his might, before taking a small sip.

Everyone waited, looking at him with nearly palpable excitement and expectation.

But nothing happened. His eyes did not glow blue, or yellow or any other color. _Nothing happened_.

After a moment, everyone visibly deflated with disappointment and Merlin released a silent breath, almost passing out from the relief flooding through him.

 _That was a close one_ , Merlin thought, quickly sitting the cup back down and taking his place next to Arthur.

"See?" the noble from earlier boasted loudly, "I told you it was a hoax."

"It does not work then," Arthur said with a nod, the tension easing from his body.

"I do not understand, milord," Lord Frederick said, staring at Merlin, then the cup, then back at Merlin. "It worked the last time we did it."

"Well, it's not working now—" Arthur began.

"Merlin?" The Queen interrupted in concern, her voice raising in alarm.

Turning around, Arthur frowned at what he was seeing.

Merlin was hunched over, one hand holding his mouth and the other, his stomach.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned uneasily, moving toward him hesitantly.

"See milord," Lord Frederick said excitedly, "it _is_ working!"

"You never said that it would make him sick!" Arthur exclaimed in anger, whirling to face the noble.

"It didn't the last time, milord," Lord Frederick explained quickly, paling, "he's having a really strong reaction to it."

From his position near the throne, Merlin could hear them but he couldn't focus on anything but the burning in his belly. It felt like his insides were on fire.

Closing his eyes, Merlin's body shook, dry heaving as another bout of nausea rose without him. But this wasn't a sickness. It was his _magic_ ; it was welling up to the surface without his consent. He pushed against it, fighting against the ancient force directing his magic, but it would not stop. He coughed, cognizant of attention being directed back at him, of the stares and the steadily growing roar of the noble's chatter as they realized that the Cup was affecting him.

 _No_ , Merlin thought, teeth clenched, _I_ cannot _allow this to happen!_

With an effort born of desperation, Merlin gathered all of his strength and pushed against the force with all his might, sweat dripping down his forehead at his effort. Like a defeated enemy, it retreated abruptly, leaving him cold and empty and _safe_. With a huge sigh, Merlin opened his eyes to the odd stares of the crowd, including confused, concerned stares from the King and Queen. He tried to smile wanly at Arthur, but before his mouth could so much as twitch, his eyes widened. Because, like a defeated enemy, the force returned.

With vengeance.

Mouth opening in shock, Merlin gasped loudly as his magic surged through him, the power of the cup ripping through his shields and pushing his magic to the surface. As Merlin fell to the ground, he knew that his eyes blazed gold, as bright and as mighty as the blaze of the sun. But the cup's strength and anger were too much. Merlin could do nothing as the force of its magic picked him up and threw him into the wall, the back of his head hitting it with a sickening thud. For a moment, everyone stared in stupefaction as the manservant slid down the wall and hit the floor with yet another thud. Dazed, Merlin felt his eyes roll, feeling the welcoming arms of unconsciousness enveloping him.

The last thing Merlin saw before darkness took him was the utter look of horror on Arthur's face.

#*#*#*#*#

Merlin woke with a start, his eyes popping open. He stared for a moment at the dark wall, confused. Had Gaius redecorated his room? Then he saw a rat the size of a small dog run over his feet and he remembered.

Arthur, Lord Frederick, the cup.

 _Oh._

The warlock took a deep breath as the reality of it all hit him, his gut churning so greatly that he was sure he would be throwing up at this very moment if his stomach had even the barest trace of food. Arthur had thrown him into the dungeon. Of course he had. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, forcing his mind to blankness in an effort to fight against the despair threatening to overwhelm him. It was nothing less than he had ever expected, but it still broke his heart.

Very much so.

For a moment, all Merlin could do was sit there, struggling against the nausea and the fear, unable to help but ponder what had _happened_. How had his life gone downhill so _quickly_ and so _completely_? Things hadn't been perfect before, but he'd been coming to grips with the reality of his life. But now? Now, surely all of Camelot and beyond knew that he was a sorcerer. What was even worse; he did not even have the refuge of lying and claiming he hadn't known. His reaction to being forced to drink from the cup would clearly paint that a lie.

He was exposed.

Everyone knew he was a sorcerer.

 _Everyone._

Merlin felt his heart stutter as dread threatened to overwhelm him… this was not how this was supposed to happen. This was not how Arthur was supposed to find out about him. This was wrong… so very _wrong_. And just when he was about to drown in his panic, he felt it; a presence. It was warm and gentle, like laying on a soft blanket. It was so comforting and Merlin released a deep sigh as he felt his fear melt out of him. He closed his eyes and let go, allowing himself to sink into its warm embrace.

#*#*#*#*#

There was nothing more disgusting than waking up in a dungeon.

It was the smell that hit him first. The mysterious presence must have have protected him from it before, because now he could smell _everything_. It was putrid and foul and he could not fathom, did not _want_ to fathom, the substances that would create such a repugnant stench. And then there was the filth. There was grime on the walls and floors that Merlin chose not to examine too carefully for fear that it would make his empty stomach dry heave. _Again._

Merlin's nose crinkled in disgust as he shifted in discomfort, the chains around his wrists and legs clinking softly at the movement. By God, it should be illegal for the dungeons to be in such a state. It was definitely something he would have to speak to Arthur about later. At the thought of the King, Merlin closed his eyes, sighing deeply, his heart filling with an unnameable, painful, emotion. But he pushed it away… he didn't want to think about Arthur right now. But how could he not?

Arthur…

Merlin couldn't imagine what was going through the King's head. Merlin had seen Arthur at his lowest, when Morgana has taken control of Camelot for the second time, when Agravaine had betrayed him, when Gwen had betrayed him. It had hit the young king so hard that it had taken a lie about a mystical sword and the support of his people to boost his spirits.

How would he react now that Merlin was now the problem and not part of the solution? The mere thought of Arthur's pain sickened Merlin to his core.

No matter Merlin's personal problems, Arthur was still the most important person in his life and the very last person he'd ever want to hurt. Merlin had just wanted things to be _different_ , for Arthur to finally see who he really was, for Arthur to know him, for them to be friends in _truth_. But now… everything had fallen apart.

He should have told Arthur… he should have told him because it would have been better for Arthur to find out by Merlin's mouth then by a damn cup that couldn't mind its own business. But now, what was he going to _do_? Would Arthur ever forgive him? How was he going to explain things to him? How was he going to make this right? Because _that_ was more important than freedom, then his personal feelings.

Arthur was more important to him than it all.

He still hadn't decided what to do about his impending doom when he heard the sound of activity filter into his cell. He instinctively knew that he hadn't had one visitor since he'd awakened, but it seemed that that was about to change. Merlin sat up as footsteps began to echo through the dungeon. He blinked at the person who suddenly came into view.

"Arthur," he said softly after a long silence. "I was wondering when I would see you."

Arthur merely stared at him, his face emotionless. "You're a sorcerer," the king said suddenly, quietly, addressing the afanc in the room.

"Well, I guess it would a pretty blatant lie to deny it now," Merlin joked sadly, his smile full of sorrow.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" Arthur asked, his voice never raising above a whisper.

"I have many things I would like to say," Merlin replied after a moment, eyes intent on him. "But I don't think you want to hear any of it."

"You're right, I don't," Arthur agreed shortly, eyeing him.

"I have to admit I'm surprised," Merlin said after a moment, tilting his head at the King. "I expected questions, maybe physical violence or accusations. Anything. But you're doing none of that. Why?"

"You've lied to me for years," Arthur responded sardonically, a bitter smile on his face, "You must think me a fool if you believe that I would ever trust your word again. It would be utterly pointless to ask you anything."

Merlin blinked, closing his eyes against the pain in the other man's voice. It was just as he expected; it didn't make the reality of the situation hurt any less. "Arthur," he began, his voice beseeching, "if you would just let me explain—"

"You will be executed at noon," Arthur cut him off, turning away from him toward the doors of the cell. "Out of respect for our history, I won't have you burned. I will kill you myself, not that you deserve such an honor."

"Oh?" Merlin responded ruefully, swallowing over the painful lump in his throat, "you're going to kill me yourself? Thank you, that's very kind."

Arthur was silent, but Merlin could see that his words had struck a chord.

"Do you think this is funny?" Arthur asked angrily, his voice rising as he swirled around to face his manservant. "Do you think it's amusing that my people think I'm a joke? That I've once again been made a fool because, unbeknownst to me, my manservant—the person I spend the most time with—is a _sorcerer_? You think that's _amusing_?"

Merlin could say nothing, only stare at Arthur, sorrow filling his blue eyes.

"I am sorry, Arthur," the sorcerer replied quietly. "I am. Hurting you… is the last thing I ever wanted."

Arthur let out a small breath, shaking his head, his blue eyes filled with such pain, that it made Merlin's throat clog with nearly breathtaking regret. "I really wish I could believe that Merlin. I do."

With that, the King looked at him for a moment longer before leaving. He didn't look back.

Merlin gazed at the doorway through which Arthur had disappeared for a moment longer before burying his head in his hands.

#*#*#*#*#

It was time.

Arthur drew his sword, hating, for the first time in his life, the loud ring it made as it withdrew from its sheath. Had it always been that obnoxious? That sound that signaled that blood was to be spilt? How could he have ever liked it? How could he ever have savored the noise as he prepared for battle?

The King glanced at Leon, Elyan and Percival standing behind him. He had only allowed them to come after taking their oath that they would not interfere. It was why Gwaine was not there; however confused his feelings about the sorcerer, he could not watch Merlin die. Arthur wished such an option was available for him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before moving in front of him.

In front of Merlin.

Arthur did not believe this, still _could_ not believe this. Had it only been days ago that he had been laughing with this man? Joking and smiling, discussing the events of the day? And now Merlin knelt in front of him, face and clothes covered in dirt and grime, his head bowed, refusing to look Arthur in the face.

Arthur had trusted Merlin, more than he had anyone. He has told Merlin his secrets, confided in him, _believed_ in him. How could Merlin betray him like this? Moreover, why wasn't the sorcerer cowering? Why wasn't he begging for his life? But it didn't matter. This was the end for Merlin. He had chosen to practice the magic and the penalty for such was death.

"You, Merlin of Ealdor, are here today because you have, by your own admission, confessed to using magic and enchantments. This is a crime punishable by death."

His words bounced off the walls, seeming to echo through the whole castle. There had been many nobles who had crowded into the Citadel to watch, and they all looked on in varying degrees of pity and delight as King Arthur, famous for his friendship with a mere peasant, was forced to kill that same peasant for committing high treason.

Arthur took a deep breath, "Do you have any final words?"

Merlin shook his head, his head still bowed. Arthur's breathing picked up as he moved closer to him.

"Very well," Arthur said, his voice a near croak.

He blinked, cognizant of an increasing blurriness in his vision, uncaring that all could see the tears welling in his eyes. Arthur stood there for a moment, taking calming breaths, his whole world narrowing to the dark head bowed before him.

It was in that moment that Merlin looked up. Blue eyes connected and everything within Arthur stilled. There were so many emotions in Merlin's eyes and with them all came memories. So many memories… Memories of the first time they met, the first time he'd ever seen that goofy, _idiotic_ grin. Memories of the first time they'd saved Camelot, their first quest together. Arthur remembered all the battles; all the adventures; all the pain; they had gotten through it all _together_.

Did he have any memories, anymore, that did not contain Merlin? That did not have the man's messy black locks, or fearless devotion? The sum total of the last few years of his life were shining in Merlin's blue eyes, and it was in that moment that Arthur made his decision. It would not be popular, indeed, it would be unprecedented in Camelot's history and would likely hurt his standing as King.

But he _was_ King, and this was his choice.

Arthur closed his eyes again and shook his head, before opening them again, his visage as hard as flint.

"Merlin of Ealdor, you are hereby banished from Camelot. You are to gather your belongs and leave immediately. If you return, it will be upon pain of death."

With that, Arthur turned to leave, ignoring the crazed explosion of disbelief, confusion and more than a little anger from the witnessing nobles… as well as the look of utter surprise on Merlin's face.

He was going to be merciful and allow Merlin to live; it was the only choice he could live with.

Perhaps he was a fool for sparing the life of the man who had probably betrayed him, perhaps he was weak for his inability to kill the sorcerer who had probably, for all he knew, been in league with his treacherous sister for years: But Arthur could not. He could not forget all that they had gone through together, he could not forget their history however contrived it was. Surely it could not have all been an act? Doing this, sparing the sorcerer's life was doing more than enough for the man in the name of their history, and this would be it.

After this, he would never think of the bumbling idiot from Ealdor ever again. After this day, no one would be allowed to speak the name "Merlin" in his kingdom ever again. He was even considering issuing a law officially changing the name of the damn bird Merlin was named after.

As the King took the first step toward the exit, a single word rang out through the shocked hall.

"No."

Arthur paused, disbelieving, for a moment, what his ears had heard.

"What?" he asked shortly, his voice sharp with disbelief as he slowly turned to face the man who struggled to his feet.

"I said no," Merlin repeated softly, a determined gleam in his eyes. "I have lived in Camelot for over seven years. This is my home. If you don't want to see me, if you want me to leave, then you will have to kill me. If you won't kill me, then command me. I'm sure there's _something_ you need me to do. Maybe your socks?"

Arthur could only look at Merlin with wide eyes, unable to believe the man's gall. Did Merlin think this was a joke? Didn't he realize what Arthur had tried to do for him, that Merlin would have been the first known sorcerer to walk out of Camelot alive in twenty-odd years? Did he not appreciate what he had done for him, oath breaker that Merlin was?

It infuriated Arthur, just enough to do what was necessary.

Chest heaving with anger, Arthur turned back to him.

"Very well," Arthur said decisively with a nod, fist tightening around the hilt of his sword. "As you will not accept banishment, your life is forfeit."

Arthur strode up to Merlin and pushed him down, quickly raising his sword in the air once more.

With a swing of the sword, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, brought it down.

End of Chapter 3: Please review

 **Chapter 4: Aftermath** : The price of freedom.

A/N: I decided to go ahead and post this chapter. This, like the others, has been sitting on my computer for FOREVER collecting dust. I mean for four years. Anyway, let's have THE TALK. I want to be really, really real with you guys. I am juggling about ... six fics right now. The ones with the most reviews get the most love, pure and simple. So, I would really appreciate it if you guys actually reviewed. If you want to see more chapters of this fic, please leave a word. Also, I have a account. Check out my profile if you want to support. I hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I have wonderful things planned for it. Be well!

* _Áhellian mic seiðr from testa_ is roughly translated to mean "hide my magic from cup".


End file.
